


Counterfeit

by twothousandverses



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bipper, Reverse Falls, i guess this is an AU of an AU because bill is as big an asshole as he is in canon, sock opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twothousandverses/pseuds/twothousandverses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pacifica Northwest and Gideon Gleeful were names the town of Gravity Falls would remember as belonging to heroes, for bringing down of the power-lusting Pines twins in an epic battle. Two weeks later, Dipper and Mabel Pines escape prison by unknown means, and with their flee comes the return of Bill Cipher. </p><p>In another universe the demon had managed to possess one of these siblings with a sly trick, and it appears he will do so in this universe as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To put it in few words, this is what I believe what would have occurred if our favourite dream demon Bill Cipher had possessed Dipper in the reverse! universe. Plot not based on Sock Opera.

People often told Pacifica she was one of the most courageous and intelligent (if odd) children of her age. In reality, she was just doing what she had to in order to survive.

Poetically speaking, it’ more elegant to say something along the lines of, ‘As it generally was this time of day, the Mystery Shack was quiet once more,’ or, ‘The Shack, that tranquil evening, was desolate of bustle and life,’ but that would have been a downright lie. For the past two weeks there had been a constant group of at least sixty people swarmed inside the building, making it near impossible to get anywhere fast. All tours after noon had to be cancelled, due to Stan not being able to organize so many requests.

At first, the new popularity of the Shack (owed to Pacifica and her cousin Gideon’s involvement in taking down the Pines twins during their attempt to take over town two weeks prior) had been exciting, and both children were more than eager to help out the new business.

But after the first four days, Pacifica got a sickly taste in her mouth at the thought of standing behind a cash register for another day straight. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for her uncle—she was overjoyed, even—but just, ugh, the _work._ Exactly two weeks had passed since they gained their fame, and two weeks exactly was how long Pacifica and Gideon had gone without doing anything _supernatural._

And it was kind of boring.

Gideon would admit it more than she would; he was _crazy_ about all the wild stuff they’d come across during their stay at Gravity Falls. Yesterday, Pacifica could count on one hand the times she hadn’t seen him in the same room with Journal 3 since the first day of summer, but after she pointed out how obvious his obsession was he denied all charges; his wariness about the passion grew though. Today, he had parted with the journal a total of four times, which was a record to be displayed on a billboard with flashing lights, Pacifica considered.

The twelve-year-old sauntered into the gift shop of the Mystery Shack, where a group a couple short of a dozen browsed merchandise items. She gave it a curious glance but pushed the suspicious thoughts back. She made her way over to the cash register, where the teen employee Robbie fiddled jadedly with a pen.

“Hey, chica,” he greeted her, trying to put a little enthusiasm in his bored demeanour. “What’s up with your life?”

“Hey, Robbie,” she replied, pulling up a stool and sitting down beside him. From the cup of pens beside the cash register she grabbed another one and began clicking the retractable repeatedly. “Do you know where my uncle is?”

“On a tour.” A quick glance at the clock hanging above the exit told her that it was two in the afternoon.

“So they resumed the normal schedule?” She left the tip of the pen out for a second to scribble on a loose sheet of paper lying on the counter. The faded blue ink filled the page unstylishly, turning ragged corners and dying halfway through the girl’s masterpiece.

“Yeah, I think so. It’s been two weeks—the thrill of publicity fades fast, huh. Been like this for three days.”

With a flourish Pacifica tossed the rubbish pen in a garbage can a few feet away, missing. It bounced off the rim and rolled in a wide half-circle across the floor. “I don’t think that’s it,” she admitted, eyeing the store once again as she stood to pick it up. The people huddled by the T-shirts kept giving her weary glances, and the two kids by the snow globes seemed eager in pestering their parents to let them leave early.

Pacifica straightened in apprehension.

“I wonder what’s up."

**-o-O-o-**

"Gideon.”

The boy didn’t look up from his summer reading. Honestly, Pacifica wouldn’t be surprised if he was doing this in an attempt to prove her wrong about the whole ‘you’re obsessed with the Journal give it up’ confrontation. The boy was only a year younger than her, yet with controlled cottony hair so blond it was almost white and an expansive array of formal-like sweaters the exact same shade of baby blue, he seemed… not older, but definitely more mature. _Seemed_ is the key word in this context. Petty forms of revenge were his specialty, and the boy, whenever enthusiastic or caught up in any moment, displayed his emotions the same way an agitated piglet would.

Shaking off the weird comparison, Pacifica grabbed the pillow from her bed and flung it across the room at her cousin, once again missing. “Gideon. Gideon, Gideon, Gideon, Gideon.”

“Stop.”

“Heh, I just realized how fun it is to say your name aloud. Gideon, Gideon, Gideon—”

“I feel like you had a point yet got distracted, and suddenly ‘the point’ has been lost somewhere—thrown out the window, or better yet, fallen off the roof of the Mystery Shack.” His Southern drawl, though worn, was noticeable when he spoke. When he had been four or something he had moved to Texas for five years before returning to California, where Pacifica had lived her whole life. His accent had faded surprisingly fast, yet somewhere after six months it had gotten lost somewhere between the west and the south and never found its way home.

“Seriously though.” Pacifica kicked off her shoes and jumped on the pillow now lying on the ground between her bed and her cousin’s, like she was playing The Floor Is Lava. “Have you noticed something different about the Shack?”

“Nothing other than the fact that for the past two weeks the noise of dozens of strangers flooding my uncle’s house has remained incessant? No. Why? What have you noticed?”

“Just the atmosphere’s changed,” she decided, skipping back to her bed and performing a trust fall with the mattress. She frowned as she recalled the anxious little kids wanting to leave. “And it's not just the novelty burning out—there’s more. I can’t pinpoint what it is though.”

Gideon shrugged and returned to his book. It took six seconds for him to slowly shut it in dawning realization. “Oh god, you’re right."

“Ask Grunkle?” Pacifica suggested.

**-o-O-o-**

"What.”

This was more of a statement than a question, really.

“What happened?” Pacifica asked again, as the pair followed their great-uncle around the gift shop after it closed for the night. “Like, why’s everyone acting really weird?”

Stan grunted in reply, drawing out a box full of old, unsold retail from under the cash register counter. He grabbed the wrapping tape dispenser from his belt.

“That wasn’t an answer,” noted Gideon.

“Nothing’s wrong,” their uncle answered finally, after wrapping up the box tight. With a heave he picked it up and carried it into the living room, setting it by the table.

“I seriously doubt that,” Gideon deadpanned as the cousins followed him.

“Look, kids,” began Stan, turning and facing his great-niece and -nephew. “This town’s weird by definition. _Nothing’s_ wrong.”

The doorway flew open with so much force all three of them flinched in unison. Soos appeared, waving a tightly-gripped newspaper in one hand. “ _Mister—!”_

He stopped with his foot still in the air.

Gideon, Pacifica, and Stan all stared.

Soos chuckled nervously with a face that screamed _Wait, frick, I messed up_. “Oh, hey, dudes,” he started awkwardly. “Didn’t know you were here.”

Pacifica gave a small frown. “What’s that?”

“Oh, nothing, heh!” The handyman hid the newspaper behind his back, as if that would stop them from already knowing what it was. “Just, uh… a T-shirt! It fell. I was going to give it back to Stan.”

Gideon’s eyes trailed over from Soos’s front of panic to his great-uncle’s grimace of defeat, and made quick deductions. “What’s really going on?” he asked.

“Ehhh….” Stan brought a hand to the back of his neck, a habit he displayed whenever he had bad news or was about to tell a lie. “Look, you’re young and we didn’t want you to worry. Besides, you would have found out sooner or later, and we’d rather it be later. Later as in once the whole problem is solved. It’s sure to be fixed soon.”

 _“What_ is?” Pacifica demanded.

Stan paused with his mouth open to speak, so Soos butted in with exclamations of worry. “The Pines twins escaped prison and are on the run and the police don’t know where they are and we didn’t say anything because we didn’t want to scare you guys!”

_“What?!”_

“Surprise,” Stan announced dismally. All that was missing was a pair of sarcastic jazz hands.

“When did this happen? It’s only been two weeks!” shouted Gideon.

“Oh my God!” wailed Pacifica, her hands flying to the ends of her hair.

“See, this is what I wanted to avoid,” Stan directed to the employee before returning to the panicking cousins. “The runts escaped three days ago. The police are already on their trail, and they’ve informed us they can’t have gotten far.”

 _“Us?”_ Pacifica cried. “Does Robbie also know?”

“Everybody in town knows except you two.” Stan didn’t bother with hiding any more facts. “I asked him personally to keep his yap shut. I knew you’d freak out like this.”

“Everyone knew except us!” exclaimed Gideon, who couldn’t seem to shake off that one detail. “That’s really considerate, Stan, thank you for not telling us that people who want us _dead_ have _escaped prison!”_

Stan sighed like he was about to do something he knew he'd regret, and started, “I get that the idea of the Pines being out of the slammer should be pretty scary for two kids like you—”

“We’re not scared _,”_ Gideon clarified, miffed by his uncle’s belief. “Just extremely upset no one seemed to bother let us know something so important.”

His uncle waved him away. “Whatever. But everyone is completely safe. The Pines can’t just show up anywhere public because everyone knows they’re criminals now. Their options are limited, and the cops will catch up to them sooner or later.”

“Uh, _Stan?”_ Pacifica felt the need to interject. “The police in this town are morons.”

Another sigh, deeper this time and with more pain and irritation. “You guys said you weren’t scared. Why are you acting like it?”

The cousins shared worried glances.

“Just nervous, I suppose,” Pacifica pretended to deduce.

“Good,” he said, and waved over to Soos, whom they had almost forgotten was present. “Soos, I need some help packing up more boxes, and then I need to drive them out to the warehouse.”

“You got it.”

The cousins watched them disappear into the gift shop in silence.

**-o-O-o-**

Pacifica was gnawing at her hair anxiously, staring out the window of the attic. Gideon was on his bed, once again with his summer novel. She couldn’t tell if he was actually reading or not.

“Hey, Gideon,” she began. “Are you actually scared?”

He shook his head without looking up, which basically confirmed that he wasn’t reading. “Stan’s right—Mabel and Dipper have no cards to play, and they’ll be caught soon.”

“Yeah, but breaking out and running off with crossed fingers, hoping they’ll get away doesn’t seem like something they'd do.” She sighed deeply. “They’d rather wait until they had a plan to get away permanently. What if they have that plan!?”

“But two weeks isn’t a lot of time to come up with an elaborate escape,” her cousin countered. “They’re probably just desperate.”

“Yeah.” She sighed again, reclining with difficulty on her bed. It felt as if her bed sheets were towels instead of blankets, and her pillow was a rock rather than soft feathers. She forced her eyes closed.

A couple minutes passed, and soon her mind was on other things. The Mystery Shack sounded awfully quiet, in comparison to the racket of the past few days. The cousins were the only ones inside, the eerie silence fenced in by the incessant buzz of the outdoors surrounding their home.

Perhaps that was why the rapping at the door downstairs could be heard so clearly.

“I’ll get it.” Gideon stood, but Pacifica trailed behind him anyway. She was curious who it'd be at this time.

Their footsteps going down the stairs sounded loud and dramatic. Traversing the deserted gift shop, the cousins made it to the door.

The figure at their doorway stood with one arm held against the wall, the other hand grasping at an agonizing wound slashed across their forehead. Hot crimson trickled down to the end of their elbow, where it fell silently, staining the porch wood with droplets of scarlet. Clothes in ruined stains hung down from her frame like broken ribbons at a birthday party long ago ended. Heavy breaths came in and out with painful gasps, side by side with a fierce scowl that disguised a fearful plea for help.

There was a beat of silence.

“Nice to see you again, morons,” with a grimace, Mabel Pines spat. “Guess what—you’re in danger.”


	2. Chapter 2

_A few hours earlier_

Mabel Pines's hair was a vulgar mess. Sweat not just from her palms but from what felt like every inch of her body made her feel disgusting. Her cheeks must have been a bright red, assuming the heat on her face wasn’t from the dense sunlight battering down on her and her brother.

Dipper had always been healthier and more fit than Mabel; presently, her twin jogged with simplicity at her pace, all plain sailing. A jagged cut scratched across his forehead from when he was hit against a wall during their escape. It continuously bled down into his eye, which he kept rubbing with his fist.

Mabel spluttered and slowed to a stop, wheezing, with her hands on her knees. Never had she thought she would be put in such a degrading position, running through a forest on the run from the authorities—it sickened her.

“Mabel! What are you—there’s no time to stop.” Dipper’s voice sounded irritating and demanding, as always.

“Shut up!” she nearly screamed. “I can’t run anymore, you jerk!"

They’d been running for hours now, with hardly any rest. There had been some stupidly easy escape, and while Mabel didn’t remember details she could recall missing guards and many doors left unlocked by accident. A blur was everything since the escape to her usual daily self-loathing, in which she imagined Pacifica and Gideon dying miserably, and she escaping in some spectacular way, and _how on earth did we fail we had a massive FREAKING ROBOT FIFTY FEET TALL—_

Mabel spat on the ground, a mixture of phlegm, spit, and blood. Dipper was looking at her in a mixture of shock and hatred. She loved her brother, but since this summer started, bringing the sudden arrival of the cousins, his entire demeanour had changed for the worse. She didn’t know if she still liked him—resented him, certainly.

“What?” he demanded, glaring at her. Mabel hadn’t realized she was staring at him. Tentatively, she reached up and touched the cut on his face, but he brushed her aside brusquely.

“I think we’ve lost them for a few more hours,” he said, then looked down at their dirty jail uniforms. The Oregon state prison didn’t fit their jumpsuits with tracking devices, thank God. Even if they did they would have cut them out somehow though. “We need new clothes.”

"Clearly," retorted Mabel, turning away. "But where do we get them?"

After perhaps an hour of wandering just hidden by the edge of the forest, the twins came across an old cottage with a clothesline stretching from one tree to another in the backyard. One at a time the pair stole a new set of decent clothes, but the only ones their size was a violent pink sweater for Mabel, and a red-shirt-blue-vest combo for Dipper, along with jeans for each of them. Dipper complained about the new wardrobe, ditching the vest after only a couple minutes. Fortunately Mabel had been smart enough to nab a couple of other random things such as socks, two sweaters, and a pair of shorts, as to make it not so obvious to the authorities they had been there. She ripped them up and left the remaining articles in a tattered pile on top of the vest; the owners could assume a wolf had stolen their clothes or something.

They took their old prison jumpsuits and threw them on the ground in a new pile, a two hour’s walk away. The twins got a fire burning with some gasoline they had stolen the day earlier, and watched the flames in a wretched silence. After a minute Dipper stood and left, but Mabel stayed to watch the rest of their past blaze.

He came back some twenty minutes later, long since Mabel had put out the fire. She prodded the ashes with a stick sullenly. Her sweater itched, not surprisingly, since she only wore a thin tank-top underneath.

"Hey, Dip," she said once noticing him leaned against a nearby tree, watching her. He moved over and sat beside her.

"It’s been three days," she reminded him, "and we haven’t even begun to think up a plan."

"I know," he replied, clearly irritated by something.

Mabel drew more meaningless lines into the ground. “We should leave the state as soon as possible. Canada’s not too far away. We’d need a map though.”

"We’re not leaving yet," he announced as if it had already been decided. Mabel turned to him.

"Excuse me?” she demanded. “If I’m allowed, could I ask _why?_ There’s pretty much no reason for us to stay in Oregon, and the authorities could find us any second. These last few days we’ve just been lucky.”

"We’re in Gravity Falls," he announced, moving to stand, glowering at her. "I saw a sign a few miles back."

"Great!" she exclaimed sarcastically, getting to her feet also, as to match their heights. Even if they were equally tall and he had a more deadly guise, she still had the more intimidating scowl. "Even more of a reason for us to get the heck out of here. Gravity Falls hates us."

"The journals are nearby," he explained in short terms. Mabel glared at him for as long as she could, then scoffed.

"Dipper, there is no way on Earth you are risking your head to get back that journal," she told him. "All that has passed. We lost, so give it up."

He turned, almost confused at her answer. “What did you say?”

“'Forget what happened', Dipper.”

“No, but—Mabel,” he started, “while you may have conceded defeat, you made the mistake of assuming I have as well. Pacifica and Gideon must have at least two journals, ours and theirs, and this is the best chance I’m ever going to get to retrieve them. So _we_ don’t have to start from zero again.”

Mabel shook her head in frustration. “You’re not going anywhere,” she told him, her voice laced with venom. “You may be willing to put yourself at risk, but I’m sure as hell not. So, if you leave my side and put me in danger as well, I swear to God I will hunt you down without hesitation.”

For a second she could see genuine worry on his face, along with something that Mabel couldn’t name, but he replaced it easily with a neutral expression.

“Do you mean that?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated for a breath, and Mabel imagined him saying something along the lines of, “I could beat you in a fight with my hands tied behind my back,”—and was surprised when instead he replied, “Very well, you win. I can’t possibly argue against a threat like that.”

Mabel could nearly taste the sarcasm, but she could also tell he was being sincere. Her shoulders relaxed, and her breathing calmed, if slightly. “Good,” she said, trying to remove the anger from her voice. “Why don’t we try to find some food, or more wood for a fire.”

“Sure,” he nearly grumbled, walking off without another word. Mabel watched him leave, upset and disappointed. Wrinkling her nose one final time at her heavy clothes, she found her own path.

**-o-O-o-**

The forest seemed thicker than Dipper remembered. He stumbled his way through, angrily stomping around blindly. Albeit stronger than his sister, she compensated by being a thousand times more coordinated.

The sky seemed to be getting darker as well, even though it still must have been around four or five in the afternoon. Dipper was getting lost, so he decided not to be an idiot and head back.

As he followed the messy trail he had left of broken twigs and crumpled leaves, he kept thinking about Mabel, and how close the journals were. They were going to have to start from nothing again, and the mere thought just… frustrated him.

But he had been serious. He wasn’t going to go back, not if it put the twins in danger. He thought about Mabel, and wondered—

And suddenly there was a bright light…louder than any gold he had ever seen. He’d only seen that figure once before in his life, one that’s burn still scarred his nightmares.


	3. Chapter 3

“There you are.”

Dipper came out into view silently. While he had been away Mabel had tried to start a fire; her attempts were in vain, because of the two of them only her brother knew how to start a blaze without the help of a cigarette lighter. “Unless you found something,” she began, setting down her tools, “I was thinking of just stealing some food again. I know absolutely _nothing_ of hunting, and this whole wilderness thing is a bunch of rubbish anyway; I’m sick of it. What do you say?”

There was no reply for the longest while, so she turned to her brother, and found him standing a few yards away, watching her silently. Tentatively she stood, and uncertainly she asked, “…Dipper?”

“Mabel,” he replied, still looking at her oddly, like with regret and amusement, if that were possible.

She frowned. “Why are you acting weird? What’s going on?”

Dipper took a few steps forward until they were face to face. Mabel’s feet shifted, discomforted, but she didn’t turn away.

He pulled his arm back and hit her across the face; it was blunt and sent her stumbling backwards to find her balance. The girl’s hands flew to cover the blow, her mouth agape in shock and pain.

She shrieked, “Dipper! _What the—!?”_

“Mabel,” he repeated, cutting her short. He wringed his hand, _smiling._ “Sister. Change in plans—we’re not going to Canada. Or, at least, I’m not.”

“You hurt me,” she murmured, her eyes still wide. “What are you doing!?”

His eyes flickered upwards, his grin malicious. “Don’t worry about it,” he hissed. “This doesn’t concern you from now on—in fact, I think I’d rather eliminate you entirely, if that's okay with you.”

**-o-O-o-**

Gideon and Pacifica stood, mouths agape, at the derisible form of Mabel Pines, giving her most despised rivals a heeding of caution at their own porch steps.

She stared back at them with a hateful scowl, blood still dripping from her face and side, almost meticulously. The sun had just sunk behind the large western mountains, the last golden rays turning amber and red, and falling over the small town like a blanket. Pacifica found the colours looked more like tendrils of flames, thrashing across the sky above them.

“Well?” croaked Mabel. “Gonna let me bleed to death, will you? I’ve risked my own forsaken _life_ in coming here, I hope you know that.”

Pacifica slammed the door.

“Police,” she gasped. “Gideon, call the police.”

No protest. With his fingers on the buttons, however, he paused. “Mabel is outside, hurt,” he said, as if it had just occurred to him.

“Yeah, I know,” replied Pacifica, her mind elsewhere, nearly absent from the conversation. “Just hurry up.”

“Hey! Guys!” Mabel screamed through the door, pounding on the frame weakly. “Let me in, I’m serious!”

“It’s a trick,” Pacifica stressed.

“Seems pretty elaborate for a trick,” her cousin noted, his fingers fidgeting over the numbers. “That was real blood Mabel was covered in.”

_“Guys!”_

“Aargh! Just call!” Pacifica cried.

“Why would she be concerned for our safety? Where is her brother? There are so many things we don’t know—”

“You ask too many questions!” Pacifica raged. “Stop questioning everything like it’s a puzzle you need to solve, and do as you’re told!”

“Pacifica! _Gideon!”_

Gideon stood incredulous.

“…Pacifica?”

She swallowed, her mouth feeling unbelievably dry. “Just call the police,” she said, her voice sounding incredibly hoarse. She made her way over and pried the phone from her cousin’s hold, punching in the familiar 9-1-1 sequence.

Gideon took a small step away from her. “Pacifica?”

She didn’t turn towards him— _they were both incredibly stressed_ —and held the phone to her ear— _fighting now would just make problems more complicated_ —but there was no tone. Confused and slightly panicked, Pacifica tore it away from her face— _she can apologize to her cousin later_ —stared at it a long second— _she can make everything right again—_ then put it back against her ear.

“Nothing,” she breathed.

All the lights simultaneously died, like lives flickering out of existence.

The following silence fell heavier than any darkness.

**-o-O-o-**

Dragging them away from their momentary haziness was the screaming from outside and the frantic pounding on the door.

“Pacifica, Gideon! Let me in, please! I’m pleading—look, I’m begging, _let me in! Let me in, Gideon! Please—!”_

Gideon sent a hurt look to Pacifica. He then ran to the door and threw it open; Mabel still stood there.

“Oh God, Mabel—”

Suddenly the twelve-year-old staggered, leaning off the wall and stumbling as if her legs had been paralyzed, all feeling and control dead. Digging blood-encrusted fingers into her sides as if to draw away her pain, Mabel fell to her knees gasping in heaving breaths.

“Please,” she tried again, her emerald-pine eyes open in shock and nausea, unfocused and unseeing.

“Pacifica!” the boy shouted, kneeling by her side and wrapping an arm around Mabel’s waist. “Help me!”

Disinclined, Pacifica made her way over knelt by Mabel’s other side. She wrapped her arm around her. Her arm pressed against something sticky and warm, and she recoiled immediately. _Oh my God._

“Power outage,” she said out of nowhere. The cousins turned to Mabel in confusion. “He said something about cutting the power….”

Pacifica, albeit tempted, asked nothing, as she and her cousin helped the other feeble girl stand. Shakily, they brought her to her feet, and for a moment the three of them stood there, facing the woods in silence.

There was a loud rustle in the forest in front of them.

“We have to get back inside,” Gideon gulped.

“What is that thing?” Pacifica squinted, but the light from outside was not enough to be able to make out any figures.

“You were the one telling me not to be so curious,” he snapped all of a sudden, catching her off guard. “Stop being a hypocrite; let’s get indoors, where I have the journal—”

“Gideon, I’m sorry you’re so sensitive,” she barked in return. “I just wanted to see if _maybe_ there was something else we had to worry about other than the dying girl I’m currently holding the weight of—”

“Dipper…” Mabel slurred.

The cousins returned their focus to the forest in neat unison.

Dipper stood two yards out of the trees, wearing tattered clothes like Mabel’s, yet in a slightly better maintained condition; he stood at all sorts of awkward angles, as if he was a puppet learning to come to life. There was a stain of darkness hidden in the furthest layers of his eyes, drowned in the glowing yellow of his pupils. His grin stretched maliciously across his face, his teeth stained with blood as if he had sunken them in raw meat; his chest sank and rose like a wild dog eager for more.


	4. Chapter 4

Pacifica felt the door shut way too slowly. Locking it with trembling hands, the three of them took a step back, breathing heavily.

 _“What—?”_ she panted, turning to the girl she held in her arms, but Mabel’s head was drooping, her eyes half closed.

Silently, the cousins dragged her to a nearby wooden seat in the living room. She muttered and complained and threatened, but her words held no effect on them.

“Mabel, _what happened to Dipper?”_ Pacificapressed, but the other girl wouldn’t stop running her mouth nonsensically.

Gideon found a first aid kit in the kitchen and brought it back, and together they bound Mabel’s wounds sharply. Pacifica brought a damp towel to clean off her blood, and a glass of fresh water for her to drink.

Once all of it was wiped off Mabel seemed much healthier, and it became apparent the wounds weren’t vitally serious; after so much time, they had simply bled a lot. And after she had downed three glasses of water, Mabel was able to speak coherent language again.

“I don’t know,” she replied to nearly all of their rapid-fire questions. _Why are you hurt? What happened to Dipper? What did you come to warn us about, him? Is he the one responsible for the power outage?_ They seemed like simple questions and easy enough to understand, but clearly she was against answering truthfully at the minute. Her eyes were livid, a dangerous pine bordering on black.

Pacifica was near giving up when she said, “Dipper hurt me. I don’t know why, but he did. He implied he was coming for the journals.”

The cousins exchanged worried glances.

“The journal?” Gideon clarified.

A glare. “That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

“But if you’re wanted by the police, why would he do something so irrational?” he questioned. Without looking at either of them, Mabel began explaining.

“Ever since we escaped prison, that lunatic wouldn’t stop going on about how he had to get his journal back. Then, when he confronted me with his plan to go back, I tried to stop him from acting so unreasonably, and he just—” Her voice cracked, but she quickly recuperated. “Hurt me. He hurt me.”

Pacifica couldn’t stop staring at Mabel, her emotional pain as much as the cuts and wounds on her arms. She thought her brother had loved her, even while being a pain in the arse, but clearly he cared more about his obsession than her.

_Enough to attack her?_

“So you came to warn us about him?” continued Gideon, ceaseless for answers.

Mabel barked a rough laugh.

“You thought I was coming to _warn you_ out of the goodness of my heart?” she demanded.  _“_ No, I came because I know my _brother_ is coming here.”

“Gideon, let her be,” ordered Pacifica. “She’s nervous—”

“I’m not stressed—!”

“You sure sound like you are.”

There was a rapping at the gift shop door. The three children froze.

“Mabel, the door’s locked!” a familiar voice called, far too casual for the situation. “It’s Dipper; let me in?”

Mabel slid off of her stool as if in a trance. She staggered, staring at the door two rooms away in shock. Gideon and Pacifica grabbed her arms.

Brusquely, she shoved them off, standing on her own. “…Dipper?” she whispered hoarsely.

The door knob rattled like the bones of a dead man hanging. “This isn’t funny, Mabel,” he shouted again.

She faltered, her mouth agape, as if she wanted to run to the door and fling it open and jump into her brother’s arms—and very, _very_ suddenly, she smacked both her hands over her face, the sound sharp. The cousins jumped in shock. They waited as she composed herself with her palms still covering her expression. Finally she looked up, lowering her arms.

“Grab something you can fight with,” she ordered, fierce determination in her eyes, overpowering the fear and the hatred and the hesitance, but most of all the sadness. “And get me a knife.”

Pacifica looked around and grabbed the nearest weapon she spotted, a broom. Stumbling into the room next door, Gideon returned with both a regular kitchen knife and a pan for himself.

Mabel didn’t seem satisfied with her gifted weapon, but she took it. “He wants the journal,” she reminded everyone, turning to Gideon. Instinctively, the younger boy patted his sweater’s interior pockets, but it dawned on the two cousins simultaneously that it wasn’t with him.

“I don’t have it." Gideon looked horrified.

“Don’t you wear that stupid book on you at all times?” Pacifica snapped.

“I _do,”_ he retorted. “You were being so  _insufferable_ about it today that I left it, _okay?”_

“Stop bickering!” Mabel shouted. “It’s _pathetic_.”

There was a beat of silence.

Pacifica asked, “…Our room?”

“The main attic floor,” Gideon mumbled.

With his tone Pacifica realized with a pang how badly she’d been hurting her cousin. Her mouth opened reflexively to say something, _anything—_

There was a large crash two rooms down, and the children turned their heads to the gift shop like frightened cats. Pacifica gathered her wits. If this had been any sort of supernatural creature the journal would be able to tell them what they needed to know to defend themselves, but this was _Dipper Pines,_ human.

But now Pacifica had doubts of even that.

His eyes burned like fluorescent gold, starved and gleefully frantic. His hair, a generally well-maintained pecan fluff was now streaked brown and scarlet with grime and blood. His smile seemed so out of place—Dipper rarely smiled, and it almost appeared like the forced maniac grin hurt him.

Pacifica had always seen him and Mabel as identical, but now she thought he couldn’t look _more_ different from the girl standing beside her, gripping her kitchen blade with purpose and apprehension.

“Dipper,” she managed to spit, as if the single word hurt her.

“Sister!” he exclaimed. His voice was the same, yet injected with a malevolent enthusiasm Dipper could have never accomplished. He stepped across the gift shop in easy strides and stopped by the doorway of the living room. “It’s me, Dipper Pines!”

Mabel sneered. “You’re not Dipper. You’re not my brother.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes still wide and unblinking. Mabel glared right back, her breathing loud and laborious. They were locked in silence for a lethal ten seconds.

Finally, Dipper turned away with a small sarcastic smile. “Figured it out, did you?”

Mabel frown deepened. “I didn’t figure anything out—I still don’t know who you are, and what you’ve done to Dipper.”

“It’s possible it’s a shape-shifter,” stammered Gideon, anxious to turn to a supernatural aspect of things, “or a clone, of sorts.”

“Still doesn’t tell me _where my brother is.”_

Dipper smiled like a crazed man and pointed to himself. “I’m right here, sis!”

“Stop _calling_ me that—!”

The worry and the hatred and the angst of not knowing answers must have finally gotten to her, as Mabel staggered again, stumbling into the table. The knife escaped her fingers, falling silently onto the carpet without a clatter.

Pacifica turned to the other girl, but— _it had only been a second—_ and suddenly Dipper, or whoever it was, tackled her cousin—she gave a sharp cry as Gideon’s head thudded against the floor and he gasped, dropping his weapon.

Dipper slugged him across the face, and pressed a hand against the younger boy’s sweater. Frustrated, he pounded a knee into his chest as he stood. “Where’s the journal!?” he screeched, standing over Mabel and Gideon.

Pacifica stiffened her grasp on the broom and smacked the wooden end across his neck. He grunted, a hand flying upwards to cover the hit. “Who _are_ you?!” she demanded.

Dipper barked, “What, you don’t remember me?” He winked, and for two seconds his eyes blazed dangerous cobalt.

Pacifica staggered, feeling a sickening taste in her mouth. She managed to stammer, “—Cipher?”

“The one and only.” He bowed in mock salute. “I know, you must have questions, but essentially….” The entity stopped and grinned. “…All you need to know is that Pine Tree forever remains as a massive idiot for contracting a demon on such a whim—”

Mabel roared and lunged suddenly, gripping her kitchen blade by the hilt. She brought him down by the legs and crawled on top, her knife pressed sharply against his throat. He gagged, a thin line of blood appearing where his skin met her knife. The demon grabbed her arm and tried to pry her off, but instead she let go of the blade and raised her other fist.

“Two weeks ago, you tricked us!” she shouted, her knuckle coming down and twisting his head to a side. “My brother would never make another deal with you! _What did you do to him?!”_

He snickered, despite his position. “You desperate _bitch,”_ he laughed, beaming as he took another blow to the face. “You know I’m not lying, Shooting Star. You don’t want to believe it, but by this point it’s a _fact.”_ Tears trickled down her face as Mabel raised her fist again, hurting her brother, but more importantly, hurting the demon inside of him—she sobbed and hit him again. “Your suspicions go way back.”

“Mabel!” Pacifica caught her arm mid-air. “Stop!”

The girl hesitated, and then broke into vicious tears, all strength leaving her.

“He… he cares more about the journal than me,” she sobbed. “He went as far to contract a demon to get what he sought after, without thinking about any consequences it would have on _me_ … and he’d do it again a thousand times! I….” She took in a shuddering breath, calming herself, as her fingers clenched and her nails dug into her palms. “I _hate him!”_

The house was plunged into a poisonous silence. Pacifica stared, her jaw ajar, unable to say anything. Bill Cipher stood easily, brushing off his clothes and rubbing a hand across his throat. He spat a clot of blood on Mabel, who didn’t even flinch.

Finally, Pacifica looked around, and after an initial sweep she conducted another more frantic one. “Where’s Gideon?” she demanded, and it dawned on her slowly. “He must have gone after the journal….”

With a triumphant grin, Cipher turned sharply and bounded for the stairs. Pacifica stood immediately, turning to the other girl still kneeling on the ground.

She muttered, her eyes glassy, “This is your fault. Yours and your cousin’s. This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t….”

Pacifica nearly ordered the defeated girl to come with her, but she couldn’t bring herself to, as every second she wasted talking with her was another second Gideon could be in danger. With a pitiful glance, she ran after the demon.

**-o-O-o-**

Pacifica ducked into the room she shared with her cousin, a jolt of fear running through her at its emptiness before she realized there was still the main attic floor. It seemed as if time stopped while she was running up the stairs, she was taking too long; _she needed to be there—_

The window was open, a frigid breeze dancing through to inside, making the room an ominous chilly. She froze. Gideon lay on the ground while Cipher stood over him, the journal held tight in his hands. His eyes were closed.

“Gideon!” she cried, running over to her cousin, ignoring the demon standing over him. He was alive, his breathing slow, and he not exactly in peak physical condition, but alive. She cradled his head, staring at his closed eyes.

“I’m sorry, Gideon,” she muttered, stroking his messy white hair, tears blurring her vision. “I’m _so_ sorry I was being so rude to you. I didn’t mean any of it—I was stressed and worried and scared, but that doesn’t excuse it, I’m sorry, please, _please_ forgive me. I… love you.”

Cipher shook his head with a loud disapproving click of his teeth, which brought Pacifica back to the present.

“I still don’t understand them, you wretched humans,” was all he had to say.

Pacifica glared, disgusted.

She said, “I don’t see what the purpose of all this was. What was your plan, you freak?”

Cipher chuckled, turning away from her in irritation. Suddenly his head snapped back to her. “ _All_ of it was _my plan!”_ the demon shouted.  “Who do you think let those worthless Pines free from prison?! Who _purposefully_ made it so that the police wouldn’t find them immediately afterwards?! Who made it so that the pair would ‘accidentally’ make their way back home to Good Ol’ Gravity Falls?! _Me._ It was all _me._ And now that I have the journal, I’m going to destroy it. There’s no need for you to keep with your meddling, Northwest. Perhaps, one day in the future, you and your cousin could have found something actually _important_ and have ruined my larger scheme.”

“You…” Pacifica breathed, her eyes not focused on Cipher, yet staring hatefully in his direction. “You used the Pines twins? Only to… in the end… get to us?”

Grinning, he spat, “You two would have never fallen for such a simple trick.” The line of blood across his throat made him look a sinful man returned to life. His grip on the journal loosened as he became over-confident with the success of his plan. “I had to use someone desperate and susceptible to lies, completely out of their mind but unaware they were so.” His grin turned into a vile smirk. “So, basically, Dipper Pines.”

With a scream of outrage Mabel peeled away from the shadows, tackling him from behind. He choked as she gripped his neck and forced him to his knees. The kitchen blade fell from her hands, clanging.

“Just because my brother hated me doesn’t mean I do as well,” she gritted, her long hair getting in her face and over her eyes, but she didn't seem to notice. “Don’t _ever_ talk about Dipper like that. _Ever!”_

Cipher threw her off, and she fell backwards with a hard thud. Pacifica scurried to her feet and lunged towards the fallen journal, which had skidded a few feet away from the fight. Scowling, the demon surged forward and intercepted her, and they landed in a pile with him on top. Pacifica fell painfully on her back, and felt the wind disappear from her lungs. She spluttered hopelessly as Cipher scrambled to the journal, snatching it up just as Mabel got to it as well.

“Get out of my brother’s body!” she snarled as they grappled for the book.

“Let go of the journal… and then we’ll see—” he replied, his words spoken raggedly as they fought.

Mabel stopped struggling for a second, in which Cipher lost his guard; she was able to rip the journal from his hands. He turned—

—the fallen blade that they had forgotten was there was suddenly in his hands, and with an emotionless silence worse than any taunt or threat, he thrust it forwards into Mabel’s—

The journal slipped through numb fingers, landing with an almost serene thud.

The twelve-year-old stopped. Her eyes were wide, and she didn’t move, because suddenly there was a knife plunged somewhere beneath her ribcage and it _hurt,_ it actually _hurt_ and she was bleeding again and suddenly time seemed to be marking down—to _what?—_ in frantic ticks while everything around her moved so slowly; and abruptly Mabel spluttered, blood dribbling from her lips.

Pacifica was aware she was screaming, yet she couldn’t hear her own voice, nor see anything but darkness and Dipper taking two steps forward and ripping out the blade with a satisfied sneer, and then Mabel doubled over and there was  _blood, so much of it._

And then she was falling, shunted out the open window by her demonic brother…

…falling from the roof of the Mystery Shack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops.


	5. Chapter 5

Peering out the window in mild satisfaction, Dipper tossed the blade out the open window too, as he no longer had any use for the thing. He didn’t see where it landed, just heard a near-silent _click_ as it bounced off the roof of the Shack once before skidding and falling.

Pacifica was screaming, which had already gotten obnoxious a while ago. He saw her stand in slow-motion, run over to him in slow-motion, and raise her fist. With an easy side-step he escaped the hit and landed one himself, on her stomach. The girl hit the ground, crying.

Without much more than a faint flicker of his eyes to the incapacitated cousins, Cipher picked up the fallen journal and tucked it under his arm. He should probably be going.

The Shack was empty. He bounded down the groaning staircase, pausing on his way out only to poke a head into the living room. There was blood everywhere; he grinned. Somehow, it was amusing.

The girl lay on her back on the ground, below the open window of the attic. The kitchen dagger—what a useless tool—rested not three feet away from her body, the blade stained black. It was impossible to tell if she was dead or not, but if she wasn’t yet she would be soon. Already ink had begun to stain the grass around her torso and what also appeared to be her head, in something oddly reminiscent to a halo. The irony was impossible not to sneer at.

The demon set the journal down, preparing to depart from his body. His eyes settled over the murder scene again.

And suddenly he became oddly curious.

The large knife felt unbalanced in his hands. He slipped a finger down the sodden edge; it hurt, but in irritation. He knelt and turned the hilt around.

“Well, Pines,” the demon said, licking his lips eagerly. “This is going to hurt the both of us, but it’s definitely going to hurt you more than me.”

Before he lost the nerve, Cipher forced the weapon towards him; the boy screamed. The hold on the blade was lost, as his body collapsed sideways, the knife still piercing his chest. His eyes flamed a noxious cobalt before losing nearly all life.

Cipher overlooked the sight of a dead and a dying twin (or possibly both dead, or both dying—specifics don't matter), in exhilaration. The pain had been exciting while it lasted, but it was enough to say that it was highly unpleasant for a demon to be forcefully ejected from a dead body. He wished he could have stayed, even if a bit longer.

“Oh, man,” he chuckled. “Oh, wow. Look at you two.”

The boy’s eyes opened, painfully slow. So he was alive. It was a pitiable sight, but incapable of compassion or condolence, Cipher found it humorous.

“Pretty pathetic,” he carried on. “The grand and high Pines twins, masters of magic and powers, criminals, contractors of demons… and look where it got you. That’s what you get for getting too involved with the supernatural, kid.”

The boy’s eyes trailed toward the demon, attentive yet unresponsive. It seemed to hurt him to breathe, make any effort, scream or cry. There was disappointingly very little blood, but internal bleeding would kill him just as effectively as external would.

“Just imagine it,” he continued, still finding enjoyment in his gloating. “If you die, both you and your twin will have lost your lives at the hand of the same blade. Almost like it was always inevitable, huh?”

No answer.

The demon, with an inward sigh, floated down and picked up the journal, which had been getting dangerously close to being stained with the ichor streaming through the grass towards it. “Well, I guess I ought to be going,” he said, signing off with a salute.

“Oh, and Pine Tree,” he remembered to add before his exit, “I just wanted to let you know she died avenging your name. She would have survived otherwise.” Albeit incapable of smiling now, the satisfaction was evident.

The demon disappeared with the journal.

**-o-O-o-**

Dipper was dying.

He wasn’t sure how long he had left. Seconds, minutes at best. The blade stuck out of his chest like a new limb, positioned somewhere near his heart. His blood felt like grease under his skin.

 _Mabel…_ she was somewhere near him. His eyes rolled slowly, and suddenly he coughed. Dipper had always feared dying, much to the annoyance of his twin, yet here he was and was almost pleading for it.

“I’m sorry, Mabel,” he whispered, the words feeling heavy in his mouth. His hand twitched experimentally, and slowly he lifted his arm around in search for his sister. It felt as if it were going to fall from its socket, and any light twitch near his core sent screams of agony coursing through his veins like electricity. _“I’m sorry…._

_“Bill. He tricked me. I was out of my mind after we escaped prison—it was too lucky, it had to have been a sort of plan. I was so sure to keep my guard up, and yet he came to me with an offer I couldn’t refuse….”_

There was so much effort put into these words no one would hear; Dipper was certain they were draining away the few minutes of life he had left. But that was what he wanted, after all.

 _“…I am the worse brother… in the world. I promised him anything, and the condition that his end of the bargain_ ”—the word he spat, the two syllables hurting him _—_ “ _would be completed first. I was so distracted by my side of the deal that I… hadn’t even considered the fact that the demon could have done_ _anything_ _with me. He possessed me, and came after you, and then Pacifica and Gideon….”_

He glanced down at the blade in his chest. He could take it out and bleed to death more quickly, but he was still scared. What a coward.

 _“You know what he promised me, Mabel?”_ he continued, blood trickling down his mouth as continued, unable to stop. He wanted to laugh in despair but his energy was draining fast. _“He promised me_ _you._

_“He promised to keep you safe, to protect you, to keep you from living the rest of your life rotting in a prison cell. But now I see it—he promised to keep his side of the bargain after I completed mine, and he had no intention of letting either of us survive until then._

_“I just wanted to say”—_ a cough— _“I love you, Mabel. And I’m sorry—”_

A hand suddenly brushed against his, and he stopped.

A feeble whisper, _“I love you too.”_

Dipper could have sobbed at hearing her speak, knowing that his words had been for something. Instead, he closed his eyes, allowing complete darkness to consume him.

_“…Mystery twins?”_

Somehow, she remembered old name they used to call themselves from years ago, when they were children. Somehow, Dipper remembered as well.

_“Mystery twins.”_

The wailings of sirens in the distance fell upon dead ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) I hope you enjoyed this twisted little story, you sick, sick people.


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